112. A Shiny Trinket
You care about him.
He lounged back in the armchair, tucked out of sight in a corner of Arl Eamon's library. The gold earring turned over and over in his hands.
I'll only accept it if it means something.
He huffed a sigh. What was it with these Fereldans, complicating things that were really very simple?
Back in the Crows, things would never have gotten this convoluted. There, you were as good as your blades. That was where your meaning began and ended.
Except… he was no longer a Crow. He'd had that proven to him with finality earlier that afternoon, when his dagger had slid across Taliesen's throat, just as Taliesen's had once cut Rinna's.
See, that was how things were supposed to be. You were kept as long as you were useful; after that, expendable. Rinna understood it, as did Taliesen—it was why Zevren could not blame his old comrade for hunting him down. Taliesen had known him best, so he was the logical choice as hunter. That was simply the way of things. Why did these backward Fereldans need to make it more than that?
He clenched the earring in his fist. What had gotten into him, anyway? Offering his earring? It was silly. Zevran was Finian's man, not the other way around… if there was to be payment, it should be heading in the other direction. Not that he expected anything of the sort, mind.
He should have expected the Crow ambush, really. The Wardens had been in the city for the better part of a week, doing tasks for various minor nobles—and that surprisingly legitimate Crow job—and moving about the city for most of the time. It had been inevitable that Taliesen would find him when he stayed in one place for so long. Stupid of him, to risk the Wardens like that.
But then his Warden had defied the Crow ambush, declaring with utmost conviction that Zevran was his own person, and would make his own decisions, and even now it made something tighten in his throat just thinking about it.
He rubbed the smooth gold of the earring. After they had all been defeated, some sort of madness had overtaken him. He'd felt an overwhelming need to… repay Finian, though he couldn't quite say why. He'd offered his earring, and Finian had teased him about gifts and gold rings, and Zevran had gotten a bit defensive, and then they'd suddenly been arguing about whether it meant something, and the Warden would only take the earring if it meant something.
Why did it need to mean anything? It was a shiny trinket. Usually, Finian loved shiny trinkets.
He clenched his fist around the earring, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to his knuckles. Damned Fereldans.
He could leave now, if he wished. The threat to his life was over, so long as he never again interfered with Crow business. To them, he was considered dead. It was oddly unsettling, having the leash finally cut. He could go anywhere; leave this country and disappear into the Free Marches. See Orlais. Cause havoc across Tevinter. Perhaps catch a ship with a certain Rivaini pirate captain.
But when he even considered it, he remembered Finian's dazzling smile after the fight, when Zevran had asked whether he could stay. He knew his Warden well enough now to detect artifice in his lover's expression: well enough to know that Finian's delight had been utterly genuine.
It confused him. Where did he stand, now? Finian was no longer giving him protection from the Crows; such things were no longer necessary. Nor was Zevran necessary to foil any hypothetical Crow plots against the Wardens… even if another Crow was suicidal enough to take the contract, it was defaulted, and could not be taken again. In short, the deal he and Finian had struck was done.
And yet here he was. Still at the Warden's side. Still his man, through and through. Perhaps that was why he'd felt the need to give the Warden his earring? To compensate for the change in their arrangement?
And it had been rejected. Turned away, because it didn't mean enough. Just when he thought he understood the other man, the Warden went and threw that at him. That overbearing, frustrating man! What did the Warden expect from him? How could he expect Zevran to make that sort of attachment again, when he knew full well about Rinna?
He moved his head up again, so that now his lips were pressed against his fist, the earring clasped tightly inside.
It was all so… complicated. Worse, Zevran had no clue what to do about it. There were no Crow codes to fall back on, and his Warden was the problem, so could very well not consult him for a solution. No, whatever there was to be done about this, it had to be Zevran's own choice, and that thought terrified him. He'd never… made a decision before. All his life, things had been chosen for him. Who to kill. Where to go. What to do. He was a master at making the best of things, working within the bounds he was given to carve out every bit of pleasure he could.
But now there were no bounds. No limits. No one was telling him what to do, or which direction to go. It was all up to him now. What if he chose wrong? Certainly, decision-making was one of those things that one grew better at with time and practice. He couldn't be expected to hit the ground running. Not with something like this.
He had two choices. One would hurt his Warden, and that thought made his chest ache. When Finian was sad, the whole world couldn't help but cry with him.
But the other choice… he clenched his hand around the earring. The other choice terrified him.
It left him with no place to go, and that made him feel trapped. Zevran did not much like the feeling of being trapped.